


To the Rescue

by JustAnotherFan94



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens Fluff, Childhood Trauma, Fever Dreams, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Hurt/Comfort, Rescue Missions, Sick Character, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherFan94/pseuds/JustAnotherFan94
Summary: Winter at Valley Forge is difficult enough. Now, Hamilton must brave the elements, sickness, and other obstacles if he is to save his friend and comrade, John Laurens.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 95





	1. Call to Action

They are desperate for money, food and ammunition. Yes, General Washington knows he is on a failing mission. His pacing indents a groove in the floor. His voice is hoarse - and slightly panicked, of course. He’d never imagined his men would be exposed to such forces - and with such little resources. Still, his stream of consciousness flows: painting a feverish picture. A cascade of wild images add to the feature. Washington describes himself, charging with his noble steed. 

“The Hessians’ll  _ never _ see us coming. Merry Christmas, indeed.”

Hamilton nods and madly works his quill until his fingers are sore. Now, there sits a tired man - mapping out the General’s plan (though, it feels more like a scam). The concept’s simple: he wants to launch an attack in Trenton. No sweat! Except, to seize them when it’s least expected, he wants to go in undetected. Sneak through in the night, and then attack in the day: using the black shadow of darkness to silently slip away.

“-And we pile in the boats,” cooly states the Commander, “...‘Got all that, Alexander?”

Sure he’s _got_ it, but he _hasn’t_ got it, to tell the truth. Though he wrote it with his _own_ _damn hands_ , he hasn’t got a clue. Alexander’s burning hands are cramped - heck, they’re practically numb. If any other man had cooked this up, he would have thought it dumb. Shakily, he grabs the scribbled parchment. Tired, violet eyes peek out from behind round-rimmed glasses to scan the schematic of problematic embarkment.

_ ~18 cannon, 50 horses, 2,400 troops.~ _

That one line alone leaves Hamilton duped.

_ ‘All of them in boats,’  _ he ponders,  _ ‘How the Hell are we to stay afloat?’ _

The General catches Hamilton’s grimace. His own façade remains rigid. 

“Young man…”

Alexander looks. Washington’s crystal blue eyes shut. 

“If this fails,” the Commander fears, “I think the game’s pretty well up.”

A lump slithers down Alexander’s throat.

Washington looks down and grins.

“But Christmas is about hope.”

A rapier wind cuts through the tent’s flap like a whip. Both men are quick to jolt around at the sound of the howling gust. It snuffs out the crackle of the amber embers with a hush. Hamilton tries to stifle a shiver running up his spine and through his quiver. Washington, pretending not to notice, shifts his eyes to the fleeting pile of kindling. 

“Hamilton.”

“Sir?”

“I sent Colonel Laurens out this morning to fetch more firewood. When you see him, please inform him that another log would do us good.”

Alexander salutes his Commander. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, go. Fetch yourself some supper.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be along soon enough.”

He turns.

“Young man, you need to keep your strength up.”

Alexander’s brow furrows.

“I’m strong enough, sir.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way.”

The General smirks. Hamilton stands from his chair.

“Well… Okay.”

He shoots his hand to his forehead as he exits the tent. His foot is barely out the door before he shoots back inside again.

“Yoouuu sure you don’t have correspondences that need writing?”

“Young man, you were  _ dismissed _ .”

One couldn’t blame him for trying. Hamilton tugs at his cloak, clenching it tight to his chest as he greets the cold air. Against his cheeks, pelts of sleet and snow greet him like an enemy: small daggers shooting through his core. From his limbs to his feet, a chill burns so deep. He swipes at his reddened nose with the back of his hand. The bastard orphan is not the only one under attack. 

He stands tall, keeps his stare fixed ahead: avoiding glares from his comrades who lie sick in the streets. He couldn’t bring himself to look at them. This icy arsenal pierces all the men he can see. Valley Forge? Yeah, it looks more like a hospital ward. A chorus of coughs surround him. The harsh, groggy sound stings his numb ears. Though he tries to ignore it, but it’s impossible not to hear. The frigid breeze freezes droplets of sweat to his face. 

_ ‘Gotta get out… Gotta get outta this place.’ _

_ Familiar faces flash in his mind. He’s taken back to a time when harsher winds used to blow. Through a rain-stained windowpane, glassy eyes watch as trees begin to sway: their large branches break away. Their bodies are starting to decay, just like them. Half-dead, in that rickety bed without a way out. He knows in his soul it’s beyond his control. Still, he can’t shake the feeling of freeing himself. With the fever, he’s outside of himself. He’s depressed. In his chest, a flame burns in his lungs. He lunges up, congested coughs beginning to jolt and rack. That’s when a gentle hand rubs his back.  _

_ ‘Alexander…’ _

“Alexander!”

He’s called back. A snowball smacks him in the side of the head.

“Whoever threw that,” he snarls, “Consider yourself dead.”

A round of giggles can be heard behind a brick wall. The two are laughing so hard, they both trip over themselves and fall.

“I should’ve known,” Hamilton shakes his head, forcing back a grin, “Monsieur Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan.”

“Oui, mon ami - ze one an’ only!” 

The Frenchman takes a bow (though it should’ve been a curtsy).

“Alexander,” Mulligan slings an arm over his shoulder, “Could this weather turn any colder?”

The man smiles.

“Your spirits seem to warm things up.”

“Ooh, gosh,  _ Alexander _ ,” they coo, “You’re makin’ us blush!”

Hamilton shoves the two soldiers with a laugh.

“I’ve half a mind t’ knock the two of you out.”

“Why?!” Hercules replies with a shout.

“It should be a  _ crime _ to be so pleasant in such miserable weather.”

Lafayette shrugs, “Zis will not make things any better.”

Hamilton peaks behind a wall.

“‘Looks like you’re still not through, afterall.”

“Huh?”

“We’re waiting on one more. Out with it, where’s he hiding?”

The two men scratch their heads.

“Who?”

“You know damn well ‘who’! Now, c’mon, where’s John?”

Alexander cranes his neck behind some barrels.

“I know it won’t be long before he pops his dumb head out from some spot he shouldn’t be in. Now tell me, where’s he gotten to?”

“Alexander, we… thought John would be with  _ you _ .”

Hamilton stops. His heart drops. He turns on the spot.

“What?”

Mulligan shrugs.

“We knew General Washington sent ‘im to get wood for fire. So we figured you might’ve seen ‘im deliver it to his pyre.”

“He never stepped  _ foot _ inside,” Alexander flatly replied, going red-eyed.

“Alright, guys. This’s gotta be some prank. Well, I’m not buying.  **Where’s John** ?”

“Mon ami,” Lafayette insisted, “‘E’s been gone since dawn.”

The Frenchman’s hazel eyes are steel, clearly telling the truth. Though this gives Hamilton no comfort. He feels somewhat aloof. Silently falling snow begins to speed up. Looking up, the azure sky is growing hazy - the crescent moon pushing up on the horizon like a daisy from the ground. Hamilton’s eyebrows start to arch.

“Shit, it’s getting dark” he whispers. 

The young man dashes to the nearby stable. He unties the leanest horse.

“Did he tell either of you his course?”

Mulligan chimed in, “Said he’d trace the length of the woods.”

This gave Hamilton something to work with. He nodded.

“‘Kay, good.”

His stiff, cold legs mount the creature. Worry is stained in every facial feature: sharp creases in brow, pale mug stained with a frown, sullen cheeks are reddened now. Though he’s as still as a statue, he feels his body shaking. His stomach is aching, and his chest is palpating. 

_ ‘Why the Hell am I still waiting?’ _

“Alex, what are you  _ doing _ ?”

The call breaks him from concentrating. He looks down. There stands Mulligan and Lafayette anxiously anticipating his next move.

“Zis weather,” the Frenchman states, “She is not being very kind.”

“And John’s out there in the thick of it by himself. What are you, fucking  _ blind _ ?”

“He just wants you to be safe,” Hercules cries, “And so do I.”

“Well, I want  _ all _ of us home safe.”

“So, you’re going on your  _ own _ ?”

“ _ Someone _ needs to find him!”

Mulligan adds, “What if he’s on his way home?”

“And what if he’s  _ not _ ?!” he fires back, his words hot, “I’m praying you’re right. But if he’s not back by night, and I  _ ignored _ what was right, I could  _ never _ forgive myself - Hell, I could never  **_live_ ** with myself. No, we don’t  _ gamble _ with our brothers’ lives. Or have you  **_forgotten_ ** our oath, Hercules? Marquis? ‘To  **_obey_ ** the orders of the Generals and officers set over me’. To  **_not_ ** go looking for Lieutenant Laurens would be disorderly. So, if it’s up to me, I’m gonna go. I’m gonna search, give it all I got. Don't I  _ at least  _ have to give it a  **_shot_ ** ?!”

A frozen trail of tear streaks are glued to his cheeks. His voice trembles when he speaks. 

“Guys,” Hamilton cries, “I can’t just leave him all alone.”

Lafayette sighs.

“Be safe, mon petit lion.”

Hamilton nods his head. He promptly clicks his tongue, setting the horse to gallop out beyond the setting sun. Lafayette and Hercules stand by. They watch him as he leaves. The Frenchman turns to the latter, his expression placidly stern.

“In one hour, we inform ze General if zey do not return.”


	2. Cold. Numb.

Shivers slither up his spine. Ice crystallizes in his violet eyes. Frozen snow and sleet cuts his reddened cheeks like a scythe. This storm is vicious. It’s unforgiving: not just surviving - it’s  _ thriving _ . Still, Alexander Hamilton’s mind is writhing. 

_ ‘Please just let him be alive.’ _

A whistling bluster zips by his chapped ears. That’s when he hears...

**_“A-alexander!”_ **

“Laurens? Damn it, where-?”

“I-I’m D-down here!”

Within the whitened dale of a hill - so deep, he’d call it a ditch - Hamilton could hear Laurens call.

_ ‘I’m gonna  _ **_murder_ ** _ that bitch.’ _

Carefully, Alexander leads his steed down. His frown deepens with each tread of the horse’s hoof. All the time, his temper’s rising through the roof. As they trudge, his steed’s prints in the encrusted snow do not stand alone. To the right, in plain sight, he finds marks of a boot. The footprints vanish into skidded steps. Likely, Laurens fell while on his quest. Curiously enough, the boot markings pick back up as the downward incline flattens.

_ ‘Jesus, John. What happened?’ _

Alexander hops steadily off the horse’s backend: armed and ready to scold his friend. He squints at a blurred image: vision pillaged by sleet and snow gusts. Sure enough, he sees him. About five yards ahead, there the young man stands: blowing hot air on his hands. A pale blue shade tints his freckled skin. Still, he can’t help but grin.

“D-didja miss me?”

Alex fumes. His teeth gnash.

“You’d  _ better _ start explainin’,” he growls, “And  **_make it fast_ ** .”

Laurens gulps, “S-so, uh, I-I gathered firewood-”

“Good, okay? Does that take  **_the whole goddamn day_ ** ?!”

“W-well, no, but-”

“-So,  _ what _ then? John,  _ everyone’s _ been worried sick.”

“I was p-planning to be quick-”

“And  **_then_ ** what?”

Hamilton's patience has vanished. He paces over to his comrade. John’s green eyes grow wide. He waves his hands over and over.

“D-don’t come any closer!”

“Is this some  _ ‘command’ _ , Colonel?  **_I’ll_ ** give you somethin’ to stand at attention for. What are you just  **_standing_ ** there for?! John,  _ tell  _ me. What are you  **_doing_ ** , and where the  **_Hell_ ** have you been?!”

“Alexander-”

“ **_What_ ** ?!”

“Watch the ice!”

“‘Ice’?”

“It’s  _ incredibly _ thin.”

“What the…”

Alexander stops and looks down to realize. Before his own eyes, he’s inches from the corner of a frozen lake. Even this close, he could barely see the edge: its hedge is masked by mounds of massive snow peaks ahead. Focusing his vision, he grimaces as he catches Laurens’ footprints in the snow - and a spew of fractaled ice cracks coming into view from below him.

This string of tiny crevices stem to John’s feet. His knees shake, his body quakes. The young man looks tired and weak. Around him are scattered trails of broken branches and wood. A desperate pair of eyes meet Alexander’s stare. 

_ ‘This isn’t good.’ _

Ever the scholar, Hamilton continues to hollar.

“What were you  _ planning _ , Laurens? To go for a  **_swim_ ** ?!”

Sheepishly, Laurens responds with a grin. Frozen sweat droplets brim Hamilton’s brow. 

_ ‘I gotta get him out,  _ **_now_ ** _. Just gotta figure out how...’ _

They have no time to lose.

“John, just try not to move.”

“Wow,  _ genius _ plan. Really!  _ Very _ good.”

“Look, **smartass,”** Alex replies, **“** I’m **_not_** in the mood.”

Alexander’s harsh tone chills Laurens down to the bone. Hamilton turns his back. 

“Hey,  _ wait _ ! Y-you leavin’ me  _ alone _ ?!”

“ _ No _ , you  **_idiot_ ** !” Hamilton's voice remains cold and thin.

“If I break off a hunk of a tree’s trunk, I can pull you in.”

“Ain’t those chances kinda slim?”

Alex slyly grins, “Gee, you’re _right_! What is **_your_** ‘genius plan’? Really, I’d _love_ to hear it.”

John pauses. Another crack strings through the ice.

“...Oh, shit.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Hamilton approaches the nearby brush. He rushes, removing his navy cloak, he braces up to the largest tree. He rolls up his tight, snow-stained sleeves. He uses his shoulder as a boulder: slams it hard against the crisp bark. A sharp splinter pierces his arm. Hamilton grunts, to John’s alarm.

“You alright?”

“I’ve been better.” 

**_Slam!_ **

“Hey, I’m sorry-”

“Yeah, whatever.” 

**_Slam!_ **

“Look, I  _ mean _ it.”

“I believe it.” 

**_Slam!_ **

“Yeah, but you don’t really **_seem_ ** it.”

Hamilton jolts around, red-eyed.

“Well,  **_excuse_ ** me if I’m  **_preoccupied_ ** , Laurens.  **I’m only** **_trying_ ** **to save your goddamn life** .” 

**_Slam!_ **

**_Crack!_ **

The thick branch smacks the ground. A puff of snow flies up. Hamilton quickly cups it in his raw fists: keeping a tight grip on the five-foot branch as he studies it. Then, surprisingly, he snorts a bit. He shakes his head, slightly giggling. Watching him, John sneers.

“What’s so  _ funny _ ?”

Hamilton chokes out, “Talk about your branches of liberty.”

John flares.

“Seriously!?”

Alexander clears his throat.

“Right, sorry.”

Squaring his stance at the lake’s edge, Hamilton extends the branch. Laurens’ fingertips barely scrape it.

“I-I don’t think I can make it.”

Cursing under his breath, Alexander takes another step. 

“Can you get it?”

John stretches, “No. N-not quite yet.”

“Maybe if I try to -”

“Alexander,  **don’t.** ”

“But the ice looks pretty sturdy here.”

“You’re not stepping  **_a toe_ ** on that ice. ...Is that clear?”

“The only thing that’s  **_clear_ ** here is the  _ space _ between your ears.”

“No. I-It’s too risky.”

“Laurens, listen. Okay? W-we’re running out of time.”

“Don’t you  **_get it_ ** ?!”

“Get  **_what_ ** ?”

**“I won’t** **_let_ ** **you risk your** **_life_ ** **for mine.”**

Laurens’ words are so heated, they sting Alexander in place. His thick, icy eyebrows raise. A pained expression stains John’s face.

“The last thing they need i-is  _ two _ of us dying.”

Though Hamilton shoots him a somber look, he is still smiling. 

“Laurens, be  _ damn _ sure I’m gonna save you. Or  _ at least _ die trying.”

Hamilton hastens his pace, with Laurens still red in the face. Extremely quickly, Alexander runs to the tree. On the way, he snags some rope that is draped along his steed’s brown saddle. He ties a tight knot to one end of the taught rope around the trunk, and ties the other end to himself.

Then, Alex sits down in a snowbank (slush dampening his bottom), quickly throws off his boots and rolls up the ankles on his pants. With a glance, he rises to his feet and gives his friend a firm salute. The frigid snow is brutal: it burns like fire through his frostbitten toes. Still, he knows he had to lose the boots to lighten his load.

Carefully, he slides onto the sheet of slick ice. He remains mindful of his balance: he slips only twice. Angled arms clutch the branch as he slinks out inch by inch. The freezing, glassy surface is ruthless: and pinches the soles of his feet. Icy chills run up his calf, through his back and travel to his neck. Hamilton shivers.

_ ‘No wonder Laurens looks like a wreck.’ _

The whipping storm continues on as Alexander shimmies along. While his will is strong, his body is protesting against the cruel elements in defense. He’s losing energy in his stance. Shaking arms extend the branch. 

“H-how ‘bout now?” he calls through chattering teeth, “D-do y’think y’can reach?”

John, hugging himself for warmth, slightly cranes his torso forward. He peels his right arm for the branch. He clutches the end of it with his hand.

“G-got it!”

_ ‘Great, _ **_now_ ** _ what?’ _

Alex turns his head back to shore. Now a few feet farther out than before, he needs to shuffle back to land. 

“When I pull you in, just grab my hand.”

Laurens nods his frozen head, now weighing heavier than lead. Alexander's aching biceps are working double-time to glide his comrade out of danger and over to his side. John continues to slide, frozen tears backed up in his eyes. He’s trembling all the time. 

This unsteadies the line.

“L-Laurens,” Hamilton cries, “K-keep it steady, goddamnit!”

“I-I’m t-trying,” Laurens replies, “B-but my legs’ve gone t’shit.”

Alexander eyes his friend. Numb from standing there all day, John’s bow-legged frame is stiff and he’s quaking.

**_Crrrk!_ **

That’s when the ice starts breaking.

“ **_Alexan-_ ** ”

That’s all John manages to say before he’s plunged into the subzero bay. Without a second thought, Alexander throws his jacket off and dives right in after him. 

_ ‘Looks like we’re goin’ for a swim.’ _

Cold.

Numb. 

_ ~Cold. _

_ Numb. _

_ Her icicle fingers gently scrape his back as Alexander continues to hack. Gagging, he turns away.  _

_ She hushes,“Shhh. It’ll all be okay.” _

_ Her violet, glassy eyes are smiling. She tries to sit up, but lets out a gasp of pain as she rises. Though she trembles, her head snaps forward. She kisses her boy’s cheek. _

_ “Lie down. You’ll feel better if you sleep.” _

_ She guides his head to the pillow. He doesn’t resist. Obeying, he wipes a drip of saliva from his chapped lips and chin with his wrist. The wind continues to wisp from the window. Both are too weak to get up and close it.  _

_ There isn’t much time left.  _

_ Alexander knows it. _

_ She strokes back his auburn hair, hoarsely singing a prayer. She stifles a cough. That’s when her voice trails off. _

_ “Alexander…” _

_ The last words on her tongue. _

_ Cold. _

_ Numb.~ _

Cold.

Numb.

Every other thought goes dumb. Hamilton swishes through the water, craving the warmth of the summer sun. An icy brick sits in his lungs. Still, he plunges down to John who’s sinking like a rock. Trying to ignore the frigid shock, Alexander kicks through the freezing underwater world. His toes begin to curl. He thinks he’s going to hurl. 

Stiff fingers clutch Laurens’ gold-buttoned lapel. He prays he’s strong enough to pull them from this frostbitten Hell. Though his muscles are seizing, limbs freezing, Alexander tries to cope. He sucks in a massive gasp of air and grabs at the rope.

Dripping wet, Hamilton pulls Laurens up with his left wrist to the surface. He can barely make out the rope in his right: between the snow - and the dark, amethyst night sky. He musters all the strength he can get to lift his friend. Once on the snowy bank, Alexander thanks every god he can think of. Bleary eyes study John. His forehead’s stained with blood. 

“L-L-Laurens?” Alexander rasps out, “Wh-wha-”

He then notices a gash in his skull. 

_ ‘Wonderful.’ _

Though it’s not very big, the cut is certainly deep - and seeping. Hamilton’s shaky arm reaches for his cloak. With numb teeth, he rips off a slip. He makes his friend a tourniquet. 

“Sh-shit,” he mumbles, carefully tending to the young man’s head. 

“H-hey,” Laurens hoarsely smirks, “A-at least w’re not d-dead.”

They turn their heads at a sharp howl, to find a pack of wolves ahead.

“Y-yeah,” Alexander scoffs, “A-at l-least not  _ yet _ .”


	3. Through the Woods

“Alex-“

“ _ Quiet _ ,” he hisses. 

“Yeah, but-“

“Laurens,  **_listen_ ** ! 

“What?”

“If you  _ value _ your life, you’ll shut the fuck up.”

Gnashing their teeth and yellow eyes glowing, the pack of four slinks through the edelweiss brush. Knowing that one little slip could expose them, the frozen men hold their poses: crouched behind the snowbank. 

They can barely breathe, the two keep shaking. Unbearably cold. Miles from home. Completely soaked. Now,  **_this_ ** mess?

_ ‘God’ _ , Alex thinks,  _ ‘Can we go back yet?’ _

He wipes stringy, damp auburn hair from his eyes as he spies the beasts. That’s when-

“ **_Hhhrr_ ** **_uht_ ** **_’Schuh_ ** !”

Laurens fails to muffle a sneeze.

Hamilton flails, “ _ Seriously?! _ ”

John opens his mouth, but his words fade out.

“Alexander,” his eyes grow wide, “Look  **out** !”

He whips around and kicks a grey wolf in the snout. Two more wolves are quick to lunge to him from the south side. He’s alarmed to find the horse forcefully kick them with her hind legs. 

“Atta girl!” Hamilton remarks, unsheathing a sharp blade from his pocket (though he wishes he had a gun and a bullet to cock it with). 

With his knife, Alexander slices the feral canines thrice. He slings their bodies into the icy water. 

He smirks, “‘Thought that’d be a lot harder.”

“Alexander,  **_quick_ ** !”

He jumps at the call to find a heinous sight. There, a vicious bite in his steed’s leg. The pack leader gnaws, pawing at the horse’s pink flesh with serrated claws. He pauses only once to unhinge and snap back his jaws. Crimson blood becomes a water color as it coats the white snow. He can hear the snapping bones. The wolf’s covered in the thick, maroon substance from head to toe. 

“Alright”, Hamilton snarls, “Enough with the show.”

He scrapes the alpha’s cornea with a twig.

“Yeah,  _ that’s _ right,” he screams, “Go fuck around with some little pigs!”

A tiny whimper echoes as the lone canine scampers off. 

Pointing to the hill, Laurens cries, “We’ve gotta head to the top.”

Like the whipping wind’s chill, Laurens and Hamilton travel uphill. John, leading the charge, turns back to find Alexander gently pushing the horse from behind. Whinnies of pain of the wounded animal begin the strain.

“Shhh,” Hamilton hushes, petting her mane, “It’ll all be okay.”

Through the struggle of the literal uphill battle, the band of ragtag rebels huddle as the ground levels off at the top. Laurens rustles with his wet curls and clutches his stomach in an effort to hold back a hurl. Hamilton’s shape is not much better: a fire burns in his chest, his lungs start to protest as he expectorates and wretches.

_ ‘All things considered,’ he ponders, ‘Things turned out better than I’d figured.’ _

John shudders and hugs his arms, “W-whadda we do? We can’t ride her with that leg… th-there’s no way she can move.”

“N-not with  _ us _ on her back,” Hamilton replies, rubbing the steed’s muzzle.

Laurens cocks his eyebrow, visibly puzzled.

“Huh?”

“Sh-she can walk on three legs.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Look, she’s trying.”

“Alexander”

“Sh-she’ll be fine-”

“Alex, she’s  _ dying. _ ” 

Though clumsy at first, the mare attempts at striding. She hobbles a bit and sort of dances around… until she smacks down to the powdery ground. 

Alexander wastes no time. He bolts over to the steed’s side. Laurens watches from a distance, his eyes start to glisten. John can’t see his face, as Alexander has his back turned. Yearning to help the poor, wounded thing who lies before him suffering. He bows his head to finally embrace the truth that stares him in the face.

_ “This horse is not gonna get better. Especially in this weather.” _

John watches Alexander clutch a large, jagged rock. He turns his head in shock at the sound of Alexander’s grunt. The brunt of his full force coming down…

One last whinny sounds. 

John looks up. Hamilton’s shoulders are jolting up and down. Deep sobs are being muffled in the knuckles of his hand. After a minute, he rises from the ground without a qualm. He seems oddly calm as he walks over to his trembling friend. His violet eyes are teary and red. 

“C-c’mon,” Alexander mumbles, “W-we’d better start walking.”

“Alexander-“

“Laurens, goddamnit,  _ please _ stop talking.”

They shudder and convulse. Their depleting pulses stutter as skies are getting bleeker: all the time, both growing weaker. With each trudge through the frigid sludge, snow rises up past their knees. Three feet deep, being smacked in the face by sleet and wind. Their breathing is shallow and thin: struggling to take air in.

Flexibility is their new underrated ability: aching biceps, locked knees create more uncertainty for their survival. As he shuts his eyes, Hamilton tries to picture the sweetness of their arrival. He sees a warm fire, glowing orange - growing stronger as he pokes the pyre. Wrapped in a wool blanket, his feet in a tub of some scalding water. 

“ **_Agh!_ ** ”

Violet eyes fly open, hearing his comrade hollar. 

His stiff neck cranes around. Snow blinds him, but he finds a tiny line of vision. He sees Laurens grimace. He’s clutching the wound on his skull. Not just that - he’s starting to fall. 

“Oh n-no, y’d-don’t!” 

Hamilton dashes to the weak man’s side. Using the strength of his pride, he slings John’s arm across his throbbing shoulder blades. 

Distress is painted on Alexander’s face.

_ ‘I gotta get him home before it’s too late.’ _

With double the weight strapped on his load now, Hamilton trudges through the storm. How he manages to go, he barely knows now. He feels more frozen sweat sticking to his brow. He’s unsure of how much farther his body can allow him to travel. The twenty-year-old rattles as another gust of wind slashes at the pair of stragglers. Any other man would have been shattered: though bruised and battered, he manages to put one foot in front of the other. He glances at his brother in arms.

His freckled face is strangely calm. John’s eyes, though unfocused, seems to stay open and wander. They go upturned when he sees Alexander. 

“A-a-alex-”

“Shhh,” Hamilton insists with a smile, “It’s alright. You just rest for a while.”

John nods his head. His eyes shut.

“J-john?”

“Mhm?”

“Y-you have to st-stay up,” Alexander states, his hoarse throat burns, “A-at l-least ‘t-til we r-return.”

Laurens nods again, still grinning at his friend. Hamilton squints his eyes ahead.

“Wh-what the Hell?” he whispers.

_ ‘Are we dead?’ _

Before him, he finds a swirly, snowy vortex. Behind its image, a blinding light pierces its vision. It stings him in the blackness of night.

_ ‘What? No, that can’t be right.’ _

“Alexander…”

A soft, angelic voice whispers his name.

“Wh-wha-?”

“Shhh,” it calls back, “It’ll all be okay.”

Such a familiar tone, it calls him back to times gone old. When he wasn’t so bold… Back when he was always cold. Back with someone who used to hold him.

Cold.

Numb.

Cold.

Numb.

Before him, as bright as the morning sun, she stands before him with her arms spread wide. In her stride, she strokes his steed who stands right by her side. Her smile is wide. Arms beckoning for him to come inside. Hamilton can’t help but cry.

Because he knows it’s not time. 

“N-not yet,” he sighs, “Not yet.”

She bows down

She kisses her boy’s cheek.

_ ~“Wake up. You cannot fall asleep.”~ _

With a start, he jolts up. Snow falls from the top of his head.

_ ‘I’m not-’ _

His heart nearly stops. He almost drops Laurens on the spot. There’s a slackness in his jaw. He knows exactly who he saw.

“Alexander!”

Again, a voice calls his name.

“M-mother,” he can barely whisper, “N-not again.”

“Alexander! John! Where have you gone?!”

The forceful, phantom voice prompts Hamilton on.

He shakily rises, clutching Laurens’ side to lift him.

“H-here,” he hobbles over to the missionary men.

Thick snow masquerades their vision so much, it hurts. It is Hercules Mulligan who spots them first.

“ **_General! There!_ ** ” cries the tailor’s apprentice. 

Bands of horses gallop as a unit towards the two men. Lafayette scoops up Laurens. Washington claims Hamilton.

“I-I-”

“Shhh. Easy, it’ll be alright, son.” 

He removes his own cloak to shield Alexander from the elements. Washington turns to his troops.

“Onward. Back to camp.”


	4. Back at Camp

Cold.

Numb.

Cold.

Numb.

He blinks snowflakes from his lashes, one by one.

When did he fall asleep? He can’t remember. Still, he knows it’s December. He’s not  _ that  _ delirious. Though, it’s clearly obvious that the search party is utterly displeased.

“W-wha-?  _ Hrrr _ **_’ushhou_ ** !” Hamilton mutters with a sneeze.

His shoulders start to wrack as his frame is attacked with another bout of shivers. That’s when General Washington delivers his orders to the men as they reach camp.

“Mulligan,” the leader cries, holding up his lantern, “Return the horses to the stable.”

More than able, the tailor’s apprentice takes the lantern and salutes. Washington’s boots sling over and smack the ground. There is no other sound than the crunching of the snow beneath him.

Tired, violet eyes follow the Commander: Washington’s face strains with tension. His orders to Lafayette are brief.

“Laurens needs medical attention.”

“Oui, sir!”

The Frenchman sprints off, clutching an unconscious John in bridal style. Hamilton’s chattering teeth contort into a shaky smile. 

This only lasts a while.

“ _ W-woah _ !”

With haste, the General grabs Hamilton off the horse by his waist. Like a cornmeal sack, the soldier gets slung over his back. The two parade through the streets: snow and sleet still coming down all the time. Soldiers stop on a dime, eager to salute the Commander. However, they can’t help but chortle at the sight of Alexander.

Though he averts his stare from them, Alexander’s chapped cheeks burn.

“S-sir?”

“ **Not a single word** ,” Washington’s tone is very stern. 

At last - after a walk Alex thought would never end, they arrive at the amber glow of the General’s tent. 

_ ‘Finally!’ _

The warmth of the inside feels like arms open wide to hold Alexander in a tight embrace. Tears stream down his face. 

The General lowers him down. His palm feels the soldier’s forehead.

“Alexander… Do you realize we could’ve found you  _ dead _ ?”

Hamilton’s face glows red. “S-sir-”

“Has that thought even  _ gone _ through your  **head** ?”

“Sir, I had no choice,” his reply strains his voice.

Washington glares - daggers shooting through his stares. He tosses him a warm pair of long johns. With his wrinkled cheeks sallow, his retort is somewhat hollow.

“Young man, that’s a  _ sad  _ excuse for an apology.”

Hamilton sneers, “Maybe... that’s because I’m _not_ **sorry**.”

The General turns his back and slowly walks away. His fists clench.

“I see… So, is  _ that _ what I say?”

Hamilton’s brow arches. Washington grabs some parchment and hoists it in the air.

“Is  **_that_ ** what you’d like me to declare when I inform your dear  _ wife _ that her husband unnecessarily lost his  **life** ? That he ‘wasn’t sorry’ for pulling stunts that could’ve  **widowed** her?  **_Belittled_ ** her?! All because her hasty husband - rather  **_unaccordingly_ ** \- went and acted disorderly: boldly ignoring the orders he was told to perform. And he wasn’t even  **_sorry_ ** that he acted so ornery. Should I say  **_that_ ** to your wife and the coroner, Alexander?!” 

His words burning, Washington was almost yearning for a reply. For the first time in Hamilton’s life, the words were hard to come by. In his fit, the General tosses the parchment into the fire. Alexander spies the pyre - tears stinging his eyes.

“Now,” Washington barks, “You’d best change into somethin’ warm and dry.”

As the General exits the tent, Hamilton nods to comply.

“And son?”

“I’m not your-”

“ _ Young man _ , if you were wise, you’d watch your  **tone** with me.” 

There is a thickness in the silence. 

Then, Washington asks, “Do you drink tea?”

Hamilton coughs, shaking his head modestly. As he starts to undress, the young man sighs with distress. Sniffling and shivering, Alexander looks a raggedy mess. Watching him closely, with his throat still hot, Washington gestures to his cot.

“Be sure to get some rest tonight, Alexander.”

“B-but, Sir, w-where will y’-”

“I said ‘ _ rest _ ’.  **That’s** an order from  _ your _ Commander.”

Their eyes lock for a minute as Alex slinks into bed. His heavy eyelids snap tight as the pillow meets his head. 

Washington can hear light snores as he exits the tent. The wind whips him a bit before he’s off on his path again. Slush crunches beneath him: his pace keeps steady as he makes his way to the medical tent. 

The General is quick to enter and tightly close the flap, so not to let in a draft. A soft groan greets him: though, it’s quite drawn-out and long. Unsurprisingly, the owner of the moaning is John.

“G-general,” he weakly salutes, his bluish hand against his bandaged head.

“Laurens, at ease,” Washington insists as John lets out a sneeze.

“‘Ow you say, eh,  _ ‘Bleeessss you’ _ , mon ami,” Lafayette replies.

John sighs and shuts his eyes, “M-merci.”

Washington places a hand on John’s chest.

“I want you to rest,” he states, “But, please... Can you tell me what happened today?”

“O-okay,” Laurens scoffs - then instantly coughs, “J’st don’ laugh.”

The General nods and smiles, “Go on?”

“Well, I-I was out in th’ snow. A-an’ the storm got real bad. The steed I had got scared, and she ran. Then, slam! Before I knew it, w-we were down in a ditch. An’ on thin ice… l-literally…”

Washington hums, “Yes, I see.”

“I-it was  _ awful,  _ a-and before I knew it, she ran away. So I w’s on my own. Out on the ice an’ all alone… until-”

“Hamilton came?”

“Y-yeah! A-and man, was I  _ lucky _ . C-cool under pressure… Right by my side. S-sure, a stubborn jackass through the whole ride, but… If he wasn’t there, I… well, I dunno…”

John stops and tries to clear away a lump that’s caught in his throat.

Washington lifts his hand, “That’s fine, son. I’ve heard enough.”

“I-I kn-know he always tries t’be tough,” Laurens continues, “B-but he’s got _ heart  _ for even  _ thinkin’ _ to go lookin’ for me.”

“Even when  _ I _ tried to stop ‘im,” Lafayette adds.

“And  _ me _ ,” replies Hercules. 

While his expression remains placid, the General is surprised. He removes his three-cornered hat and sighs.

“Men,” Washington bows, “It’s getting late, and you all need to sleep. And Lieutenant Laurens, I mean  **you** particularly.”

The General leaves the tent and ponders.

_ ‘I owe someone an apology…’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Hamilton is on Disney+ and I'm obsessed again!! Here's the next installment. Enjoy, y'allz!


	5. Christmas Morning

_ Black. _

_ All he sees is black. _

_ A hand pats his back. His lungs force him to hack.  _

_ That’s not all. He’s attacked! Out of the darkness, a white wolf pounces from a mound of snow: the beast is smothered in burgundy blood from head to toe.  _

_ “ _ **_No!_ ** _ ” _

_ Eardrums are pierced by the shrill cry. He looks up towards the sky - into the hurricane’s eye. _

_ There she stands - still, her hands are open wide. She’s shining bright like the sun. _

_ Icy water fills his lungs. His limbs start going numb and he plummets underneath to the briny bay’s deep.  _

_ ‘You’re asleep… C’mon, wake up. You’re  _ **_asleep_ ** _.’ _

_ He kicks his feet. His arms slash through the water. Only making it harder, Laurens clutches his friend’s leg. _

_ “A-a-lex,” he begs, “W-we gotta-” _

_ ‘Gotta wake up.  _ **_Wake up._ ** _ ’ _

**\- “Wake up!”-**

_...He didn’t dream that. He knows that voice… _

**\- “Wake** **_up_ ** **, boy!” -**

_ ‘I-I’m tryin’!’ he struggles to call out. _

_ The water deafens every shout. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to rise up to the surface.  _

_ Nervous wrinkles stain his face. He’s trying. _

_ ‘I’m tryin’! I’m  _ **_tryin_ ** _ ’! I’m-’ _

_ Eliza. _

_ From shore, she peers in. _

_ “Going for a swim?” _

_ ‘ _ **_Eliza._ ** _ ’ _

_ Bubbles explode past his chin. _

_ ‘P-pull me  _ **_in_ ** _!’ _

_ Her expression is almost bored. She brings her hand to her broad stomach and sighs. _

_ “I suppose this is ‘good-bye’.” _

_ ‘ _ **_Wait!_ ** _ ’ He starts to cry. _

_ ‘ _ **_W-waaaait!_ ** _ ’ Tears sting his eyes. _

_ ‘W...waaaai…’ That’s when he- _

“Wwwwait…”

“Alexander?”

“W-waaaait…”

“Young man,  **pull yourself together** .”

Cold.

Numb.

Cold. 

Numb. 

  
  


There is a dryness of his tongue. His reddened cheeks are greeted with a cool, damp towel. Pools of sweat are pouring from his sallow brow. His whole body, in fact, is saturated. 

“I-”

He clasps his irritated throat. 

“Don’t speak,” the General forebodes with a grin, “Quite the fever dream you were in, eh?”

Hamilton shrugs, though his fiercely aching shoulders protest. A rattling quakes in his chest. He hacks and expectorates: his lungs grow agitated. He riddles with his fit for a few minutes. It gives the General time to fetch another log to throw on the fire. Through teary eyes, Hamilton analyzes the scene. The once dwindling stack is now stacked to the brim with kindling. 

The General smirks and grabs a wool blanket from a shelf. 

“If you want somethin’ done right, y’gotta do it yourself.”

Washington drapes a blanket over the young man’s sheet on the cot. He reaches for Hamilton’s soaked forehead.

“Still hot,” mumbles the Commander, “‘Did quite a number on yourself, Alexander.”

His tired, bag-ridden eyes shift down to the floor. 

“...You pulled Lieutenant Laurens to shore?”

His eyes shoot back up.

_ ‘How does he know?’ _

With little voice, he manages to respond with a “Yup.”

The General nods his head.

“Y’both could’ve ended up  **dead** .”

They’re quiet for a moment. Washington picks up the rag. Then, he gently places it atop the stubborn soldier’s head to dull his fever.

“Would you do anything different?”

“No, sir.”

“...Me either.”

Visibly surprised by the General’s reply, Hamilton sits straight up.

“Wait,  **what** ?” he rasps.

“Lay back down,” Washington snaps.

“But Commander-”

“That’s an  **order** , Alexander.”

He fitfully obeys. The General has more to say.

“Young man,” he starts, “Part of me is angry as sin. You were brash and reckless. You dove right in -  **not** just a figure of speech. Each move you decided to make could’ve been a dire mistake. You didn’t even take the time to  **think** . To plan. To even  _ strategize _ .”

Washington looks down.

“And  **that’s** why Laurens is alive.”

Hamilton’s violet eyes leave their sockets. The General pulls something from his pocket.

“See this?” he brandishes a locket, “It was a token of thanks. From a woman. One day, I saved her child. By a snowbank, the thin ice broke beneath her son’s feet. He went down.”

Washington looks at Alexander.

“The boy didn’t know how to swim. He would’ve drowned.”

The General strokes the golden trinket with his thumb.

“My mind went numb. I didn’t think. ‘Just jumped.”

Hamilton’s stare is fixed on the locket betwixt Washington’s grip. His eyes squint to reveal the initials, ‘M.D.’

He quickly throws his face in his sleeve - 

“ _ hH’ _ **_rrush’oo_ ** _ ou _ !” he muffles a sneeze. 

“God bless you! Well,” Washington pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of his breast, “That’s  _ my _ cue to allow you more rest.”

“B-but, sir-”

“Young man, you need  **sleep** .”

“I’ll be fine-”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” the General smirks, “If you stay in bed for three day’s time.”

“Three days?!” Hamilton hollars, his voice letting out a crack. 

That’s when another bout of coughs begin to wrack. 

“ **Alexander** ,” firmly states the Commander, “Not another word.”

“But,  _ sir _ !”

“Young man, did I  **stutter** ?!”

“...No, I heard.”

“ **Good.** ”

Washington rises from the bed, feeling Hamilton’s forehead once more to be sure that his fever’s going down. He turns his head at the sound of footsteps nearing the tent.

“Hm?”

“G-General Washington?”

Alexander knows that voice!

_ ‘Laurens!’ _

The General greets the noise as he opens the tent’s flap.

“Lieutenant, you need your rest.”

“I plan to, sir,” John hums, “B-but before I do, I-I need to know for m’self. Sir... how is Hamilton’s health?”

Washington gestures to the cot.

“He can tell you himself.”

Laurens takes a step, but is halted by his General’s hand.

“Make it quick, now. Understand?”

Laurens nods. With hastened pace, he enters the tent with a grin. Alexander’s smile, too, is at its brim. The two can’t help but laugh as they tightly embrace: joy clear on each face. 

“You  **idiot** !” John cries.

“I know you are,” Alex replies.

Laurens frowns, “Y’sound like shit.” 

“At least I don’t  _ look _ like it.”

Without a word, Washington steps outside. Beaming with pride, he admires the orange sunrise. The General starts to stride to the stable. He pets a steed.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was, a Chrrrristmas story? Ta daaaah??
> 
> ...Yeah, not sure what this story turned out to be. Kind of a ramble, eh? Lol. Thanks for reading, anyway!


End file.
